Page 7 of Salt Between the Wolves

He crossed the lower yard with snow still clinging in pale streaks to the shoulders of his cloak, his thoughts occupied by the western routes, weakened supply lines, and the increasingly fragile balance holding Ironfang together through the first hard stretch of winter. The council had dispersed nearly an hour ago, yet its tension still lingered beneath his skin, unresolved and sharpening rather than fading with time.

Then he heard laughter.

Not loud enough to carry beyond the stable walls, and not the kind of sound that should have drawn his attention so completely. Yet he recognized it instantly.

Eira.

His steps slowed before he consciously decided to stop.

For several seconds he remained where he was, listening despite himself while the sound drifted faintly through the half-open stable doors, warmer than the cold pressing through the yard around him. The bond stirred almost immediately afterward, reacting with a quiet pull beneath his ribs that had become dangerously familiar over the past weeks.

He should have kept walking.

Instead, he found himself crossing the remaining distance toward the entrance.

The warmth inside the stables met him first, carrying the scents of hay, leather, and animals into the sharp winter air. Beyond the doorway, lantern light spilled softly across the stalls, catching against drifting steam and worn wood polished smooth by years of use.

And in the center of it all stood Eira.

One gloved hand rested against the nose of a young colt while Riven leaned beside her against the stall gate, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed whenever either of them shifted. Neither appeared aware of anything beyond the small world gathered around them — not the storm outside, not the tension tightening through Ironfang, and certainly not him standing motionless just beyond the doorway.

That struck him more sharply than it should have.

The bond remained strangely quiet around her now. Not absent, but muted beneath the warmth of the stables and the easy rhythm of conversation she no longer seemed to struggle to maintain. Whatever strain usually lived beneath her expression had loosened there, softened into something almost unfamiliar.

With Riven, she looked lighter.

The realization unsettled him in ways open hostility never had.

Because for the first time since bringing her to Ironfang, she looked like someone who might eventually belong there.

And she had found that feeling beside another wolf.

Riven said something too low for Soren to hear.

Eira laughed again, softer this time, the sound carrying cleanly through the stable before settling somewhere far less controlled than Soren liked to admit.

Not because of the bond. Because he wanted to hear it.

The awareness arrived cold and immediate, sharp enough to leave him briefly motionless where he stood. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as the thought settled into something more dangerous than attraction alone.

Inside the stable, the colt nudged impatiently against Eira’s hand again, demanding more attention while she smiled down at it with an ease Soren had not seen from her in days.

Longer than that, perhaps.

Something instinctive shifted unpleasantly beneath his restraint, subtle enough that no one looking at him would have noticed, yet strong enough that he recognized the danger immediately. The feeling had little to do with anger and far more to do with a possessiveness he could neither justify nor fully control.

The realization alone was enough to force him backward before the feeling could settle more deeply into place. Snow crunched quietly beneath his boots as he stepped away from the doorway, the movement controlled but faster than he preferred, as though instinct had reacted before thought fully caught up to it.

Cold air cut sharply into his lungs.

For a moment he remained outside in the falling snow, forcing the reaction back beneath control where it belonged.

Riven was loyal.

Eira was isolated.

Of course they would gravitate toward each other. There was nothing surprising in that, nothing threatening, nothing he had any right to resent.